Wake Me Up When September Ends
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A reflective trilogy commemorating 9/11. LB/SF. Jibbs. 3 Stories that are Jenny-centric and focus on aspects of the history of the attacks.
1. Introduction

**Introduction.**

_This three-piece work set in the LB/SF Universe is to commemorate the 10__th__ anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks that took the lives of almost 3,000 individuals._

_The victims were Americans. The victims were visiting foreign nationals. The victims were black, white, Hispanic, Christian, Muslim, Jewish—et cetera._

_The attack was not targeted at a specific group-it was targeted at our way of life._

* * *

><p>At 8:45 a.m. on the morning of September 11th, American Airlines Flight 11 collided with the North Tower.<p>

At 9:02 a.m. on the morning of September 11th, American Airlines Flight 175 collided with the South Tower.

At 9:37 a.m. on the morning of September 11th, American Airlines Flight 77 collided with the Western side of the Pentagon.

At 10:03 on the morning of September 11th, Unite Airlines 93 went down in a Pennsylvania field. Its hijacking was thwarted by the determined actions of the passengers aboard—men and woman who refused to allow an attempt on the White House.

* * *

><p><em>There you have a timeline of events. Most of you remember where you were, and what you were doing. Most of you remember your reaction. Most of you will never forget.<em>

_I was an eight-year-old kid._

_My strongest memory is how much my Mom cried. _

_What follow this intro are three one-shots, each detailing a monumental aspect of the aftermath of September 11__th__, 2001: the establishment of the Pentagon Memorial, the Execution of Osama bin Laden, and the Tenth Anniversary._

_They are in chronological order._

_Each is posted at one of the times mentioned above, beginning with this introduction at 8:45 (EST)_

_I dedicate this trilogy to the men, women, and children who died that day, and to the men, women, and children who have died in the ten years since as a result._

_Specifically, I dedicate this to Dana Falkenberg—because her story always hit me hardest. _

* * *

><p>"Have you forgotten how it felt that day? To see your homeland under fire and her people blown away?<br>Have you forgotten all those people killed? Yaah some went down like heroes in that Pennsylvania field.  
>Have you forgotten about our Pentagon? All the love ones that we lost and those left to carry on..."<br>-Darryl Worley; _Have You Forgotten _


	2. Memorial

_A/N: First in the LB/SF September Eleventh Remembrance Trilogy. The Pentagon Memorial was dedicated on September 11th, 2008-exactly seven years after the terrorists attacks. More information on it can be found on the internet. Let me just personally say that I have been to this memorial twice, and I always cry. It indeed has that quiet, terrible beauty. _

_ **Continuity Note: Story takes place April 2009, two months after Jenny's miscarriage. She is not director of NCIS yet._

* * *

><p>It was that annoying, frustrating, April time of year—the April-time when it seemed to constantly be raining or threatening to rain.<p>

Currently, it was a threatening-to-rain kind of day. The past week had been full of storms, and this particular Sunday afternoon had the sun trying its hardest to shine through lazy clouds.

And because it was finally balmy and decent out, Leroy Jethro Gibbs had dragged his wife away from NCIS weekend duty under the pretense of walking the puppy. The formidable Jennifer Shepard-now-Gibbs had tried to stubbornly dismiss him, but he had held up said Golden Retriever puppy, on whose head had been placed a yellow rain hat, and reminded her that she was neglecting the baby.

Thus beguiled into it, Jenny had stalked out to prowl the city with him.

"I'll have you know that you are ruining my professional reputation," she informed him loftily.

"You been sayin' that since we got married," Gibbs answered mildly.

Jenny cuddled the squirming puppy in her arms, puckering her lips at it and crinkling her nose. Malarkey yelped and wriggled, his tail wagging furiously. The plastic yellow hat on his head became crooked.

"Put the dog down, Jen," Gibbs growled with a pained look, taking pity on the animal. He had been cooped up for a week and he just wanted to run around.

The leash dangled from her elbow, swaying next to her thigh as they walked. Jenny ignored hi busy scrunching her face up at the puppy affectionately and, most likely, thinking up the next insulting thing that was going to come out of her mouth—

"I wouldn't have protested so much against obliging you with this walk if you had been more attentive to me in bed last night."

Yep. There it was.

He glared at her and shoved his elbow into her forearm.

She leapt away, a look of mock outrage on her face, and shielded Malarkey from him. Pursing her lips, she stroked the puppy's back, inching away from Gibbs.

"He's mean, Malarkey," she cooed. She held the puppy up and put him in Gibbs' face aggressively. "He pushed me. Bite him. Bite him, Malarkey," she insisted, swiping his paw in Gibbs' face.

Malarkey licked Gibbs' nose. Jenny frowned. Gibbs wrestled the puppy from her and set him down, looping the leash around his wrist.

Malarkey barked joyfully and darted around in circles, prancing off to chase air and imaginary rabbits. He choked on the leash and then calmed down, trotting and bouncing along close to them, his ears perked excitedly.

Jenny seized Gibbs' arm slavishly and clung to him, squealing in a sarcastic, mocking way.

"Look at us, walking our dog like a real couple," she sniggered, tilting her head primly. "You know what we should do next? Have two kids. Then you can fuck your secretary and I can start downing the youngest baby's Ritalin and we can really live the American dream."

Jenny cackled.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, amused by her—as usual.

She let loose of his arm a little, a proud smirk on her face.

"I'm hilarious," she informed Gibbs sassily.

He snorted indulgently.

He was content to let her be as snarky and silly as she wanted, considering she had been so bitter and rough the past few weeks. It had taken her the rest of February and half of March to really snap out of the funk her miscarriage had put her in, and Gibbs was disgruntled that it was more the dog than it was he who had helped her.

It annoyed him a little that one of Jenny's ways of coping was dressing the poor animal up in ridiculous outfits and forcing her team to pay homage to him—but hell, whatever worked.

Stretching her arms out and turning her face up to the sun, Jenny casually snaked her arm around his hips and wriggled her hand into his back pocket, pinching his behind wickedly.

"Is there an established point in the future when you're going to enlighten me as to what you're up to?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow sharply.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he retorted gruffly. He tugged on Malarkey's leash a little, coaxing the dog away from some construction.

Malarkey barked and pranced off in the other direction. He snapped at a bumblebee, and then went off growling after a dragonfly.

"I sense the nefarious lies in your attempt to feign ignorance," she accused brightly, looking around them apathetically.

Truth be told, she had been pleasantly surprised when he had barged into the bullpen, puppy in tow, and demanded she accompany him on a walk to appreciate the nearly-forgotten glory of _sunlight_. Naturally, she had forcefully protested against being given orders, but that was because she simply couldn't have her team thinking she was subordinate to her husband's authority.

It was complicated, see. If they thought Gibbs controlled her, then they might think that—by some sort of marriage-relative property, Kelly controlled her and then all hell would break loose in the Major Crimes Unit due to the fact that, since Kelly had turned up pregnant and was staying at her desk more and more, Kelly's consort, Tim, would kinda by default be in charge.

DISASTER.

Long explanation short, Jenny had to publicly mock Jethro and be a hard ass, regardless of the fact that she really did want to just walk around the sunny, wet city with her hand in his back pocket.

"You are up to something, Cowboy," Jenny accused, tilting her head up and eyeing him suspiciously. Her eyes flashed and she poked him this time, digging her nails into his backside saucily.

"You're a paranoid old hag," he retorted bluntly.

"How dare you," she hissed playfully. "I am not old," she said slyly. "But I'm sleeping with this guy who is fast approaching half a century."

"Give me his name," growled Gibbs. "I'll kick his ass."

Jenny tossed her head back and laughed. She tilted her head up at him with a coy look and batted her eyelashes fetchingly. She slowed to a stop and grabbed his lapel, turning her towards him. She looked around them as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"His name is," she bit her lip and paused, rising up on tiptoes to whisper it conspiratorially: "_Leroy_. _Jethro_."

Gibbs smirked and wrapped his arms around her waist tightly. He accidentally slackened his grip on the leash.

"Is that not the most _ridiculous_ name you've ever heard?" Jenny asked, tilting her head impishly. She clicked her tongue. "And still, the things I let him do to me…"

"Guy sounds like a bad ass," Gibbs muttered smugly.

Malarkey gave a joyful bark and bounded off after something. Effortlessly, he escaped his master's distracted grasp and booked it, delighted with his new freedom.

"Malarkey!" snapped Gibbs, raising his voice authoritatively.

"You sound preposterous, shouting nonsense words like that," scoffed Jenny, pushing herself away from him. She turned and took off, darting after that dog as if she were chasing a suspect.

"Heel," she commanded forcefully, getting closer. Malarkey turned and leapt at her, recognizing her voice. Gibbs jogged forward casually, not too worried. Jenny would catch the dog before anything bad happened.

Malarkey was halfway back to Jen when he evidently decided he liked being free and whipped around, taking off again. Gibbs glanced over and frowned, speeding up a little.

"Malarkey," snapped Jenny, clapping her hands. She ran after the dog again. "_Heel_," she commanded again. The puppy stopped and parked it, sitting down in front of a bench on the sidewalk again.

Narrowing her eyes, Jenny lunged forward to snatch up the leash before Malarkey could start up any more funny business—but she misjudged the safety of the sidewalk, forgetting there were puddles everywhere, and slipped. She went to her knees and broke her fall with her palm, swearing under her breath.

Gibbs caught up to her and immediately went down on one knee, taking her elbow gently.

"You okay, Jen?" he asked aggressively, bending his head to look.

She nodded. She stared at the puddle, her hand still mired in the dirty water. Gibbs took Malarkey's leash and looped it around his wrist again, massaging her shoulder gently. He narrowed his eyes, confused by her lack of response.

"Jen?" he asked again.

"Where are we, Jethro?" she asked quietly, still staring at the puddle.

He swore to himself, following her gaze in the rainwater. He knew where they were—he knew where he had idly been taking her. He had just expected to ease her into it a little more gracefully.

That expectation was shot, though—she could see the familiar, cold concrete wall of the Pentagon reflected in the puddle.

"Where are we?" she asked again, her voice hoarse and sharp at the same time. Her tone demanded an answer this time. She knew, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to hear him _admit_ that he had tricked her—and very nearly blindsided her by bringing her here.

"The Pentagon," he said bluntly.

She nodded again.

Jenny shook his arm off and then used his bent knee to push herself up. She folded her arms, her back to the building, and waited for him to draw himself up and meet her gaze.

"Why did you bring me here?" she demanded harshly, her jaw setting in a hard line.

He held eye contact firmly, shrugging pointedly.

"You need to see the memorial," he said.

"I told you _quite_ vehemently that I had no interest in seeing the goddamn memorial," she lashed out.

He nodded. He remembered.

Levi's class had taken a field trip to the memorial just before Thanksgiving. He had brought it up to her then. It hadn't been the prettiest conversation they had ever had.

"It's worth seeing, Jen," he said neutrally, tugging on the dog's leash.

Malarkey began to pant and sat down, his tail swishing back and forth happily on the concrete.

"Is it?" she asked sarcastically, tossing her head stubbornly. "Is it going to heal my broken soul?" she mocked, scoffing at the idea. She turned rapidly on her heel. "I am going home."

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, shaking his head. He bent his head next to hers and kissed the side of her head.

"No. You're not," he told her matter-of-factly.

He slid his hand down her arm as he crouched down to snatch the wriggly puppy up in his arms.

"Hold 'im," he directed, turning. He tugged her with him, nodding his head towards the Pentagon firmly.

She could see around the high fence that surrounded the Pentagon. They were just passed the exit of the Pentagon Metro stop, and he walked around the corner with her now, heading stoically towards the western side and the memorial that lay beyond.

Jenny shook off his hand. She rested her palm on Malarkey's head, just between his ears, setting her jaw tightly. She tensed, glaring at the building, glaring at everything. She felt betrayed. It was as if the sun wasn't out anymore.

Her stupid husband refused to be shafted. He slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into his side, marching her up to the entrance to the memorial. It was prefaced with immaculate, shiny marble that commemorated the events—and somewhat explained the construction.

Jenny turned away from reading, facing towards the rows and rows of benches that made up the Pentagon memorial.

"Jen—"

"Don't talk to me," she snapped viciously, extracting herself from him. She didn't want to hear it. She had told him expressly that she didn't want to see this. She didn't give a damn about this contrived monument to heroism.

Her husband had offered his life to his country, yes, but not on that day. On September 11th, 2001, Jim Laurent had not been a hero and he had not been a soldier—he had been a _father_ who took his son to work and then died in the flames of hatred with him.

Jenny didn't want to look.

She turned to the Pentagon instead. It was repaired. Immaculate—the concrete that had rejuvenated the hole created by the plane was newer and cleaner than the rest, and that was the only reminder that there had been so much pain and destruction in this place seven years ago.

The hole in the pentagon was gone, but the hole in her life was not. She felt like it never would be. Sometimes it seemed smaller—sometimes, when she was just curled up with Jethro in bed, happy, it seemed like she might have healed.

But then she remembered the lost baby. And the lost baby—the miscarriage—always made her think of Peter.

Peter should be thirteen years old now. He should be fighting her over whether or not he could skateboard to school or he should be chasing girls or refusing to use deodorant, but he wasn't.

Peter was forever five years old and six feet under.

Jenny closed her eyes tightly and whirled around, turning her back on the Pentagon.

When she opened them again, she was facing the memorial.

Her breath was taken away.

The memorial was _beautiful_.

From where she stood, the sleek, raised marble benches looked like wings. They faced her stoically, silent and still, quietly telling a story. Beneath them were shimmery standing pools of water, and the landscape around the memorial was pebbles—coppery, earthy, beautiful pebbles.

Holding Malarkey closer to her, she walked forward, focusing intensely on the closest bench. She examined it, took it in, standing still and observing in silence. She heard rather than saw Jethro approaching her; pebbles crackled under his feet.

"The names of the victims are engraved here," he said in a low voice, pointing to a metal plaque on the edge of the bench. "These, they face the western wall," he said, pointing from the plaque to the Pentagon, "they're the names of the people in the building. The ones that face skyward," he pointed up. "People on the plane."

Kelly had told him about it after Levi's visit.

Jenny nodded curtly.

Gibbs shoved his hands into his pockets, standing next to her unthreateningly.

"They're arranged by age," he offered quietly. "Youngest to oldest."

Jenny stooped a little to look at the name on the bench closest to her. She narrowed her eyes and stood, turning, and walking to the far side of the memorial, closer to the middle.

Here she knelt, reaching out to touch the name she found.

_Cmdr. James 'Jim' Laurent, U.S.N. 1971._

Gibbs hadn't followed her. He had left her alone.

Malarkey whined and squirmed, tired of being cuddled. He wanted to run around. She let him go, trusting him to only play in the pebbles. Her eyes were only for her late husband's name.

Somehow, it wasn't as awful as looking at a tombstone.

As a force of habit, she grasped for the dog tags at her throat.

She came up empty-handed, because she had tacked them to Jethro's boat.

Jenny swallowed, standing up abruptly. She turned on her heel, kicking pebbles up, and stormed to the other end of the memorial, seeking out the very first bench. She looked at the name and felt dizzy—she felt panicked, and her breath hitched.

_Dana Falkenberg_

For a sickening moment, she thought Peter's name was missing—she thought it wasn't there, but then she read the date. Dana Falkenberg had been 3 years old—and she had been on the plane.

Jenny closed her eyes and stumbled to the next bench. She dropped to her knees and reached out, touching the name with her hand. This was right, but it was worse. She had thought Peter was the youngest to suffer. That innocent little girl had been younger.

She pressed her palm hard against the engraving.

_Peter Laurent. 1996._

She felt like she couldn't breath.

Jenny bowed her head, biting her lip. She looked at her reflection in the pool beneath the bench, taking in her pale face, the hair framing her cheeks, the distressed look in her own eyes. She wished she didn't look like this. She felt so weak. She missed this little boy so much.

Where the pool stopped was Jim's name again, signifying that Peter and Jim had been family, and that they had died together. They had died together—innocent, and for no reason.

In flashes, she saw the burning Pentagon again. She felt herself running across the lawn, and Jim's commanding officer grabbing her and holding her back and shoving the dog tags into he hands and telling her they were dead and she had to go home.

_They were dead. _

Vaguely, she heard crunching pebbles again, and then scampering. Malarkey was making the most of the day. Jethro had walked up again, slowly coming to a stop close behind her.

Jenny reached down and dangled her hands in pool. It was cold and warm at the same time. Jenny splashed some water at the puppy, sprinkling him. Malarkey bounded up to her, letting out a bark. He licked her face lovingly. Jenny splashed him again.

Then she clenched her fist and slammed it into the water.

Gibbs crouched next to her, touching her shoulders.

"Jenny," he murmured against her ear, reaching for her hand. He touched Peter's name, too, running his hand up and down her side.

"Jesus Christ," she whimpered huskily. "Is it ever going to stop feeling like this?" she asked desperately, looking at him with a raw expression. She shook her head slowly, as if answering her own question.

She looked up, blinking, squinting in the sun. The sunlight shone of the marble of the memorial, making the benches sparkle and glimmer—again like wings, ethereal wings. There was so much strength in the simplicity of this unorthodox monument. It was so quiet here; it was peaceful.

It was almost comforting in its beauty—heartbreaking beauty. Bittersweet, sad beauty.

"No," Jethro said simply, answering her somewhat rhetorical question.

She took a deep breath.

"Peter," she murmured affectionately, her lip trembling. She brushed her fingers over his name again, absently scratching the puppy's ears with her other. She hugged the puppy against her leg.

Jenny made an annoyed noise, trying to clear her throat and catch her bearings. She moved her head, chewing on her lip, and lifted her shoulders, looking at him through her lashes.

"I wish we hadn't lost the baby," she said honestly.

Gibbs brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

"Me too, Jen," he answered gruffly.

Jenny took another long look at Peter's name and then stood, her eyes roaming over the entire memorial. Gibbs stood slowly after her, watching her look around. For a moment, she focused on the repaired wall of the Pentagon; her lips parted slightly, her brow furrowed.

"I can't ever replace Peter," she said hoarsely, staring off in another direction. She looked back at him and pushed her hair back, reaching for his shoulders. She gripped them tightly, leaning against him lightly. "I can't have him back."

"I know, Jenny," Gibbs said, touching her neck. He stepped on the dog's leash, ignoring the jealous whines coming from the ignored puppy.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and put her cheek against his neck, afraid to look at him. She felt like he might slip away.

"Sometimes I don't know if I want him back, Jethro," she admitted shakily, sounding scared. "If I still had Peter, I wouldn't have you," her voice broke. "But I miss my son. I don't understand how I can want them back so badly and love you so much."

Jethro shrugged. He hugged her back, looking down at the dog. He and Malarkey shared a look.

"Those attacks did a number on my sanity," she growled to herself.

"You're damn right," teased Gibbs gently.

Jenny kneed him in the groin. Not too terribly hard, but enough to make him grunt in annoyance and discomfort. She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling less stressed and anxious.

She had been struggling since the miscarriage—since her marriage, even. Jethro made her happy. She rarely felt despair or darkness anymore. She could go days without feeling like she needed to jump off a cliff. It scared her. She was used to those suffocating emotions. She understood them.

The miscarriage brought a different kind of sadness, one that she shared with Jethro. He had said he didn't care if she used her birth control or not, but she was terrified that if she had a baby now, with Jethro, she'd forget Jim—she'd forget Peter.

And yet—there was this. This memorial—this memorial _Jethro_ had forced her to see and to appreciate. _Jethro_ had made sure she knew that he respected their memory. It struck her that she had been out of her mind to think she would ever stop hurting for Jim and Peter—or that she would ever forget them.

They were represented in this stone and pebble, and they were part of her.

She narrowed her eyes and titled her head back, pressing her palms against shoulders firmly.

"Let's go home," she said seriously.

He winced.

"You mad at me?" he asked warily, unable to tell.

"I haven't decided yet," she retorted.

"What's the hurry?" he asked suspiciously, expecting he was going to be punished. Jenny did not like to cry or be reminded that she actually had human emotions, and he suspected bodily harm might be in store for him.

She tilted her head, and smirked mischievously.

"I want you to knock me up."

His eyebrows shot up. He grinned.

She snorted at the look on his face.

Briefly, she looked back down at Peter's name—and then she understood what this memorial meant to her. These benches, surrounded by budding trees and pebbles and pools of water, meant to her what finishing the boat had meant to Jethro: when he finished that boat, he could make peace with his wife's murder—and when she saw her family's names engraved on these wings, she could make peace with their fate.

Memory was all that was left, yes—but memory is everything.

* * *

><p>"<em>An everlasting tribute to the 184 souls that perished." -President George W. Bush<em>

_*Historical Remembrance Note: Dana Falkenberg is an actual victim of the attacks. She was the youngest at 3 years old, and was killed along with her entire family. The Falkenberg family was on their way to a vacation in Australia._


	3. Closure

_A/N: The second piece. This one provoked by a suggestion from reviewer 'sound is off', shortly after the breaking news that Osama bin Laden had been located and eliminated by Navy SEAL team six. With any luck, this piece adequately touches on the range of conflicted feelings felt by the executors, the victims of bin Laden, and the bystanders._

_Historical Note: Osama bin Laden was confirmed dead on May 2nd, 2011-the same year that would mark the Tenth Anniversary of September 11th. _

_ **This takes place when Jethro&Jenny's daughter, Lucy, is ten months old. _

* * *

><p>Kelly McGee, nee Gibbs, smirked as she held her phone to hear ear and waited for—<p>

"Uh, hello?" her husband answered uncertainly.

Probably because he was parked outside the house, and was confused as to why his wife had called him.

"Tim. You should see this. It's adorable," squealed Kelly quietly, tiptoeing into the house of her childhood and looking sappily on the scene in front of her. She kept her voice low; her father was asleep and she didn't want to wake him. "Daddy is covered in babies," Kelly whispered, crinkling her nose happily.

And he was.

The recalcitrant former marine was asleep on the couch with two toddlers and a grade-schooler using various parts of him as a pillow. Kelly relished the sight. She inched closer.

"I'm sending a picture," she told Tim.

"Kelly!" he hissed. "Don't wake him—"

"Hush," Kelly ordered, and ended the call. She held out her phone slowly, her tongue between her teeth. She squinted one eye, trying to get the camera in focus. She was just about to click the button to capture the photo when—

"Don't even think about it," growled Gibbs, without even opening his eyes.

Kelly frowned good-naturedly and lowered her phone, unsuccessful in her attempt.

"You are no fun," she sighed, slipping her phone into her purse.

At that, Gibbs opened one eye and smirked. He shook his head a little and started to sit up, trying not to wake the babies that were, indeed, sleeping on him. Kelly walked forward to help, leaning over to shake her son.

"Levi," she called, poking his shoulder. "Levisauraus, wake up," she cooed.

The eight-year-old glared at her from Gibbs' knee. He blinked in annoyance and shielded his eyes from the light.

"Mom," he whined, annoyed. "Go away."

Kelly raised her eyebrows.

"Your father's in the car. Get," she said affectionately. As he dragged himself up and made to leave, she ruffled his hair and snagged him closer for a quick hug and a kiss. He grumbled at her and trudged away, throwing a quick 'bye, Gunny' over his shoulder.

Kelly shook her head at him and reached down to retrieve her other child, clicking her tongue admiringly. Gibbs made a noise of protest as Kelly began to pick up the baby he was supporting against his chest.

"That's mine," he growled, glaring at her.

Kelly lifted the little girl curiously; her brow furrowing, and then gave Gibbs a sheepish look.

"Er," she said, slightly embarrassed. He reached out to take his almost-a-year-old daughter back from his twenty-seven-year-old daughter and gave her a reproving look.

"What kind of mother are you?" he teased gruffly.

"Lighten up, Dad, they favor each other," placated Kelly.

He gave her a look.

"Yours is bigger," he pointed out, as Kelly snuggled a now half-asleep Shannon Abigail on her chest.

Kelly shrugged sheepishly. Both babies had reddish-brown fuzz covering their heads and while Lucy Gibbs' eyes looked greener than Shannon McGee's, they could easily be mistaken for sisters, if not twins.

As it were, they were niece and aunt.

Kelly kissed Shannon's head.

"Mama," said Shannon, wrapping her arm around Kelly's neck. Kelly grinned, and Gibbs stood up, ready to walk her out. He transferred Lucy to the crook of his arm, pleased that he had managed not to wake her.

"Good night?" he asked.

Kelly nodded.

"Tim is very romantic," she said slyly.

Gibbs muttered under his breath. He didn't want to hear the details. He had agreed to babysit for date night. He did not. want. details. He glared at her sideways, stopping in the hallway.

"Don't look at me like that," she said primly, and narrowed her eyes. "I should punish you with details. I ask you to babysit and you fall asleep."

"They all fell asleep first!" he retorted defensively.

It was tree. He had put in the movie and they had all dropped like _flies_. To his delight.

Kelly snorted. She placed her hand over Shannon's head and bit her lip, glancing at the door. Her face fell a little, and she shifted her weight, glancing at him uncertainly.

"Have you seen the news?" she asked casually.

"No. We were watching the Squigglies."

"The _Wiggles_, Dad," corrected Kelly under her breath, rolling her eyes. She smirked briefly before she noticed he had taken to glaring at her intently. The way he always did when he wanted information out of her.

She cleared her throat.

"What happened?" he asked apprehensively. His thoughts immediately went to Jenny.

She was working late tonight. She usually called when she was on her way home. If something had happened to her—her detail would have called. He was sure of it. No; he _knew_ her detail would contact him.

Kelly sighed heavily.

"Osama bin Laden's dead," she said bluntly.

Gibbs stared at her. He went to support Lucy with his other hand, holding her a little closer to his body. He wasn't sure he had heard correctly. After years and years-

"What?" he asked sharply, inclining his head. The word was like a hiss.

"The story broke about an hour ago," she said, her voice still low. "Tim and I had a hell of a time getting home—university students are flooding the streets celebrating," she explained.

He still stared at her intently, his jaw set. He nodded slowly.

"Turn the news on," she advised. She checked her watch and then looked down at Lucy. "Is Jenny—"

"She's at work," Gibbs said gruffly.

"She knows, then," Kelly said simply.

Of course she knew. She was the director of a federal armed agency. Hell, she probably knew there was an operation in place to get the bastard. To finally, _finally_ get that bastard.

Kelly sighed. She adjusted Shannon and reached to open the door.

"I thought you might want a heads up," she muttered heavily.

He nodded, holding the door as she left. He looked outside and gave a nod in the direction of McGee, aware out of habit that he received one in return. Kelly paused on the doorstep, peering at Lucy again.

"Do you want Tim and I to take Lu-Lu for the night?"

Gibbs shook his head firmly, giving her an incredulous look.

"She'd throw a fit, Kel," he said seriously.

Kelly looked guilty. She hadn't thought over her offer too much. It made sense that Jenny would be angry if she came home after hearing the news and found that Gibbs had packed the baby off to Kelly's house.

Kelly lifted her hand.

"Later, Dad," she said. "Thanks again," she called sincerely, hopping down the steps lightly and heading off to Tim's SUV.

Gibbs shut the door after her and went back to the living room, turning the TV to the closest news station. He patted Lucy's back gently, swaying back and forth slightly as he focused on the news story.

A team of Navy SEALS in Pakistan had neutralized Osama bin Laden. Details were sketchy and unconfirmed. A constant loop of the President addressing the nation with the details played on CNN. Footage of the students Kelly had mentioned was frequent, too—there were fireworks, triumphant chants of '_USA. USA'_.

Osama bin Laden: dead.

It was unreal.

Lucy squirmed in his grip and tried to roll over. He tightened his grip to let her know she'd fall if she did, and snapped back to reality. It was her bedtime; she probably wanted to be among the stuffed animals and blankets in her crib.

He turned away from the breaking news and retreated to the nursery, across the hall from his and Jenny's bedroom. It was Kelly's old room—because when it had come down to choosing whether Levi's or Kelly's room would be converted, Levi had thrown the bigger fit.

Kelly had helped decorate, though.

Gibbs turned on the mobile above Lucy's crib, gently leaning over to settle her down in it. She fussed as if she were going to wake up, but he hushed her soothingly and she calmed down again, popping her thumb into her mouth.

Gibbs gripped the edge of the crib and watched her sleep, feeling strangely protective.

He reached down and stroked her hair, tilting his head.

"'Night, Luce," he muttered gruffly, slipping out of the room quickly. He left the door cracked and the hall light on, returning to the living room to watch the news.

He didn't sit down; he stood and stared. At this point, there wasn't much to tell—and reporters kept saying the same things over and over. Osama bin Laden was dead. Pakistan had been hiding him for years. There was justice for the victims of September Eleventh. Justice. Closure.

Osama bin Laden was dead.

And after nine years of the hunt, it was _unbelievable._

The front door opened and Gibbs whipped around, his eyes narrow.

Jenny walked in, followed by the head of her security detail. She looked unperturbed.

Gibbs met them in the foyer, shaking her agent's hand as usual.

"Gibbs," the agent greeted cordially. "In light of the events, security around federal employees of importance has been tightened due to threat of retaliation," he explained in a low voice.

Jenny walked right past them both, disappearing into the kitchen. Gibbs made it a point not to look. He nodded to the agent.

"Me and the guys will be watching the house tonight."

"Appreciate it," Gibbs said gruffly. The agent inclined his head respectfully, bid goodnight, and left.

Gibbs locked the door loudly behind him and turned to go after Jenny.

She walked out of the kitchen in front of him, holding a glass of wine in her hand, and took up vigil in the _exact_ spot he had been standing. She stared at the television, her shoulders rigid and proper, one arm wrapped across her stomach. Her knuckles were white.

Gibbs walked over slowly and stood next to her, watching the news report silently.

"Good day at work?" he asked casually.

She snorted derisively. She took a drink of wine and didn't answer him.

"Did you have a good day when they put Pedro Hernandez away?" she snapped at him, her tone much more vicious than he had heard in a while.

He looked at her sharply. The words clawed at him.

She took another drink of wine and then show bowed her head, her face turning pale.

"I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. She set her wine glass down, turning to face him. "I'm sorry I said that."

He shrugged and crossed his arms. This time, he didn't answer her. If she needed to say things like that, fine. He hadn't been expecting to talk about his late wife, and he was inclined to shut down—like he always did. If he wasn't prepared to talk about her, then he wasn't prepared to guard his emotions. And he didn't like facing them unexpectedly.

She bit her lip and then glared at him when he didn't respond. She whirled back to the television and pushed her hair back, gritting her teeth. She crossed her arms and stomped her foot tensely.

"He's dead," she scoffed coldly. "Do I get a picture?" she shot a look at Jethro, raising her eyebrows. "Do I get to see the bullet in his fucking skull? The blood stains on his filthy, dirty murdering hands?"

Gibbs watched her carefully.

"You know they shot him in the head?" he asked curtly.

"I know the Intel," she answered bitterly. "It's a privilege of being on top. I get a full report on the execution of the man who murdered Peter and Jim."

Her eyes narrowed at the screen.

Gibbs closed the gap between them, reaching out to press the back of his hand against her cheek. He pushed her hair out of his way, tilting his head.

"He's dead, Jen," Gibbs said quietly. "Osama bin Laden is dead."

She stood quietly, her shoulders still stiff. She nodded sharply, and then shook her head back and forth, lifting her eyes to the ceiling.

"I stood there in MTAC listening to the shots. I heard the President say 'We got him'. I shouted as vindictively and as triumphantly as any one in that room," she said shakily, her voice brittle.

Jenny paused and shrugged her shoulders caustically.

"And then I remembered," she murmured quietly. Her lips moved silently for a minute and she bowed her head, looking at Gibbs through her lashes.

"Bin Laden's dead, Jethro," she said hoarsely. "So is Jim," she said, lifting her shoulders. "So is Peter," she finished, barely audible.

She picked up the remote stiffly and turned off the television, looking at the blank screen for a moment.

"Closure," she mocked with rancor. "I thought it would feel better," she whispered angrily.

Gibbs touched the back of her neck, massaging lightly with his finger. She turned to him, her eyes wet and bright. She looked determined.

"Where's Lucy?" she asked.

"Bed," he answered slowly.

She darted past him and practically ran down the hall. He heard her footsteps. He rubbed his forehead, employing his usual method of handling Jenny: he was just there. There if she wanted him, there if she didn't.

He followed her after a moment, and stood at the nursery door, one arm on the door frame, watching.

Jenny held Lucy close, burying her lips in the baby's hair. As far a he could tell, Lucy was still asleep. Jenny murmured to her quietly, hugging the ten-month-old protectively. He knew she knew he was there, but she didn't acknowledge him, so he figured she wanted to be alone with their daughter. Gibbs walked across the hall to their bedroom and got ready for bed.

He clicked off Jen's alarm sneakily, planning on keeping her home tomorrow.

And he stripped down to his briefs, throwing back the slightly made covers. He sat in bed, staring at the bedroom door, trying to decide if Jenny was going to come to bed or sleep in the baby's room.

Sometimes Jenny slept in the baby's room.

Admittedly, he was caught off guard when she walked in. She shut the door behind her, a little clumsily, as she had Lucy in her arms along with a couple extra pillows, a stuffed dog, and a baby blanket.

She didn't say a word as she handed him Lucy and proceeded to set up a place for her next to Gibbs. Her hair kept shielding her face.

Once she had set up the little bed-within-a-bed for Lucy, she stripped down to her underwear and picked up his t-shirt from the floor, pulling it over hear head. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and crawled over to him on her hands and knees.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, still holding Lucy. Her leg hung over the crook of his elbow and she twitched in her baby-sleep, sucking contentedly on her thumb. Jenny took her and settled her down next to him, lowering her self to kiss Lucy goodnight on the forehead.

She collapsed next to Gibbs, resting her head on his stomach and watching the baby sleep.

"I hate him," she hissed vehemently. "I hate him. I wish _I'd_ pulled the trigger. I wish I'd seen the goddamn light leave his eyes."

Her voice cracked, and she dug her nails into his ribs. She turned her face away from Lucy, into his abdomen, and she started to cry, curled up rigidly against his lower body.

Gibbs placed his hand on the crown of her head and leaned back, providing understanding and support by just the one consistent, gentle touch.

He understood the conflict she felt.

He didn't need to say anything.

* * *

><p><em>Personal Statement: There are some people who are better off dead.<em>


	4. Decade

_A/N: The third and final piece. I am aware that I have rather solemnly revisited the LB/SF world, and I hope to do so in a less angst-y way in the future. I'm sure you can all agree that pieces such as these are fitting, considering the plot of the original story. That being said, this one is much more uplifting in terms than the previous two. I hope that, in the range of this trilogy, I have managed to address all of the issues and emotions that victims of this day have gone through._

* * *

><p>The statuesque trees that decorated Arlington National Cemetery provided pleasant and adequate shade from the strangely hot Virginia sun, and so Jennifer Gibbs reached up and flicked her sunglasses up onto her head, blinking in the semi-brightness that resulted.<p>

She smirked. The action had solved the problem of her bothersome still-damp hair falling in her face—the sunglasses now acted as a neat headband. Satisfied with the turn of events, she adjusted the straw bag on her shoulder and jogged forward a little, sneaking up behind her daughter and snatching the toddler up.

Lucy shrieked, wriggling around to look at Jenny. She giggled madly when she recognized her.

Jenny fell into step next to her husband, trapping Lucy in the cradle of her arms like an infant.

"I almost broke your neck, Jen," Leroy Jethro Gibbs growled mildly, his shoulders relaxing a little. He had had Lucy by the hand, letting her walk independently along side him on the stable path. Jenny must have startled him when she grabbed her up.

She smirked and raised her eyebrows at Lucy.

"Your father is so manly and protective," she whispered mockingly.

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked off towards the Kennedy graves and the Eternal Flame. Jenny tilted her head, lifting her brows a little.

"Jethro?" she asked gently.

He looked at her and arched one eyebrow in response.

"You want to visit Shannon?"

Gibbs shrugged and shook his head.

"Nope," he said simply, looking down at Lucy. "Shannon doesn't mean anything to Lucy."

Jenny inclined her head, leaving it at that. She had never known Jethro to visit is first wife's grave, though Kelly did so every year on Shannon's birthday, and now even dragged her kids along.

He was different than she in that respect. Jenny had often visited Peter and Jim's graves. She had spent Christmases there; she had spent rainy days there. She had sat in front of them with her pistol in her hand, staring at it.

She had never allowed Jethro there with her—and Lucy had never been. Not before today.

"Where're we goin', Jen?" Gibbs asked, stopping to let her get ahead of him.

Jenny tilted her head forward.

"Off to the side, a little before the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," she said matter-of-factly.

"Dow," Lucy said, staring at Jenny seriously. She kicked her legs. "Da-Da!" she screamed insistently. "Dow."

"Well, fine, then," Jenny retorted, glaring at her playfully. She swung Lucy to a standing position and set her down on the pathway, passing her little hand off into Jethro's.

Gibbs smirked, and slowed down again, returning to the meandering, watchful pace he'd been at earlier when he and Lucy were walking. The little girl had taken her first steps a month ago, and since then, had decided walking was the only way to go.

Jenny glanced over her shoulder and gave Lucy a saucy look.

"It's okay. I'm not offended. One of these days, you'll wish you had someone to carry you around."

Gibbs snorted and shot Jenny an amused look.

Lucy ignored her mother and bent down to pick up some pebbles, starting a collection in her hand.

Jenny breathed out slowly, walking the path to Peter and Jim's graves without thinking about it—she knew it oh so well. It felt undeniably surreal to be taking this usually dreadful walk with Jethro and Lucy in two—and even more surreal to be coming here in the sunny, balmy light of day.

This had been planned, though—it had been her idea. It seemed fitting. The weather was just fading to autumn and the day had been perfect; they had taken Lucy out on the boat this morning and stayed where the air was breezy and not too hot.

And now, here she stood at Arlington.

"Lucy," she heard Jethro reprimand, exasperated. "Put the dirt down."

Jenny veered slightly to the left, off the path, trusting them to follow her. She mellowed out a little, reluctant to talk for a minute. She walked slowly, avoiding some muddier spots.

"_Lucy_," Jethro growled again. "Stop with the dirt, or I'll carry you."

"No!" Lucy shouted, sounding terrified. Jenny heard rustling as Lucy attempted to escape from the punishment.

Oblivious to what was going down in the never-ending battle that was Jethro attempting to enforce discipline on Lucy, Jenny stopped in front of the weather-worn, faded gravestones that she knew so intimately. The grass was growing up prettily around the edge, and the dirt before the stones had long become flattened and covered with growth.

Jenny knelt down, her bag slipping off her shoulder. She tilted her head. A flash of memory struck her—the day of the funeral, and then the day the stones had been laid—when they had looked so new and cold and impersonal.

The change over time was striking.

"Ten years, Jim," Jenny murmured, tilting her head at the dates on her late husband's tombstone.

_April 4__th__, 1971-September 11__th__, 2001._

He had now been dead longer than they had been married.

It was unnerving how it could feel like yesterday, and then feel like a lifetime ago at the same time.

There was a time when kneeling before these graves would have signified one of her darkest hours; it would have broken her heart and made her hurt and want to scream and rage and break everything and then try to drink herself better.

It wasn't so much like that anymore.

"Psssst," Lucy hissed at her, toddling up next to her and wrapping her little arm around Jenny's neck. The clumsy movement pulled Jenny's hair, pinching her scalp, but it didn't bother her. Lucy beamed and held out a crushed little dandelion to Jenny.

Jenny put her arm around Lucy's waist and smiled, plucking the flower and sliding it behind her hear. She kissed Lucy's nose and then wrinkled her own, parting her lips appreciatively.

"You are such a doll," she complimented, inserting a drawl into her voice.

Gibbs strolled up behind Jenny, hands still in his pockets, watching solemnly.

Jenny wrapped both of her arms around Lucy's waist, hugging her into her side. She looked back at the tombstones and then put her cheek close to Lucy's pointing out slowly.

"Lucy," she said quietly, pointing at Peter's tombstone. "This is your brother, Peter," she continued, her voice just a little bit hoarse.

Lucy's curious eyes followed Jenny's hand and she raised her hand to point as well. She grinned and twisted to look at Jenny. Jenny's lip quirked up a little. She turned her head back, covering Lucy's hand.

"Peter is your brother, doll," Jenny said again. "Like Levi is Shannon's brother. Peter would be closest to Levi's age."

"Lee," trilled Lucy, her eyes lighting up. She wriggled away from Jenny a little and toddled forward, touching Peter's tombstone. "Lee?" she asked, tilting her head.

Jenny stroked the curls atop Lucy's head.

"Like Levi," she said again, encouragingly. "Peter is to Lucy as Levi is to Shannon."

Gibbs placed a hand on her shoulder. Pushing on the ground, Jenny stood up, reaching up to squeeze his fingers. She inched back and leaned into him, looking down as Lucy patted the grooves on the stone with interest.

"She doesn't understand," Jenny said half-heartedly.

"Doesn't matter, Jen," Gibbs answered with a shrug. She felt his shoulders move. "We'll bring her every year until she does."

Jenny nodded slowly. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, thinking about the ten years that had passed.

In that time she had lost her husband. She had lost her only child. She had dropped out of law school, battled what she saw now as borderline alcoholism, struggled with a suicidal way of living, and pushed away anything and anyone that might help her to deal with the pain she suffered. She had matured and she had become hardened. She had tried to forget she had emotions and she had sworn to never attach herself to anyone again. She had a meaningless affair with one of her agents. She had killed men and women.

She had found Jethro. She had stumbled into that feeling of romance again. She had become NCIS director. Stupid Jethro had convinced her to marry him, and given her a family in Kelly and McGee, and their kids—and then in Lucy. Lucy James Gibbs—her daughter.

In ten years since September 11th, 2001, she had lost everything she had and in ten years since she had recovered and found something else.

It wasn't a replacement—Jim and Peter were irreplaceable; what she had then and what she had now was incomparable. Jim and Jethro were two very different men, and Lucy and Peter were absolutely different children.

She didn't have something better, she had something different—and this new thing she had discovered and slowly but surely allowed herself to have was satisfying.

Jennifer Laurent, widow, had never thought she would stand at this gravesite with the weight lifted from her shoulders. She never imagined she'd be able to smile again, much less on this date, in this place. But Jennifer Gibbs knew something different—she knew healing; she knew growth and change.

She was never going to be able to forget her loss, or the sickening, horrified feeling that had struck her on this morning ten years ago, and though so much pain and destruction had come from the events of September 11th, so much hope had fought to emerge, as well.

The terrorists' attacks ten years ago had torn families apart and broken hearts, but they had also brought a bickering nation together. In the years in between, the rupture in the United States had flared again, and yet on this tenth anniversary, there was _united we stand_ in the air once more.

Jenny took a deep breath. She looked at Jethro and smirked as she accidentally poked him in the eye with her nose. He had been busy pressing a comforting kiss to her temple when she turned her head up.

"Jethro," she began, nonchalant, "You know you mean everything to me," she continued, pursing her lips.

He nodded seriously.

"Yep."

She elbowed him in the ribs.

"I must mean even more to you," she remarked dryly, nodding her head at Lucy. "You let me name our daughter after my dead husband."

Gibbs shrugged mildly.

"Got dibs on the first name," he reminded her.

Jenny snorted. She opened her mouth, starting to lean forward. Lucy was still exploring the tombstone, as if she were expecting it to do something fascinating.

"Are you talking to your brother, Lucy?" Jenny asked softly, tilting her head.

Lucy turned and looked at her mother, and then fell back to a sitting position, crossing her legs Native American style. She spread her arms out and dug her hands into the ground, pulling up grass and holding little fistfuls of pebbles and dirt, drawn from the Arlington graves of Jenny's family.

She threw a handful of dirt at the grave, and then sprinkled the other handful gently, giggling at her own actions.

Gibbs scowled and put his hands on Jenny's shoulders, lowering his lips to her ear.

"I think she accepts him," he said in a low voice, reaching over Jen's shoulder to snap his finger. "_Luce!"_ he barked. "Enough with the dirt!"

Lucy did not turn around at the snap _or_ the tone.

"No, Da-Da," she said seriously.

Jenny cackled, slumping back into Jethro with a wicked smirk on her face.

"A decade goes by and my kids _still_ only listen to me!" she gloated, squealing slightly as Jethro pinched her side affectionately.

She watched Lucy, sitting with Peter—and she thought again about how unbelievably intense the past decade had been. And she found that, thought it was bittersweet, it felt good to stand here like this.

She knew then that, had she known what would happened, she still would have married Jim—and she still would have had Peter.

She loved them. And she would never stop.

At the same time, she was happy now.

She loved Jethro. She loved Lucy.

And she would never stop.

* * *

><p><em>This day isn't ever going to stop being painful for Americans, and it isn't ever going to stop pissing us off. No nations appreciates such a violent attack on their people and their lifestyle. But since September 11th, 2001, I have seen a lot of unity and tolerance try to break through the hatred and anger. It's scary that sadness and hope can go hand in hand. But they can, and they do.<em>

_I am spending to day in Washington, DC, at the Pentagon Memorial and a Newseum Exhibit detailing the attacks and their effects. I'll be remembering where I was and how I felt ten years ago. Remembering that ten years have past is a very, very strange feeling._

_Thank you for reading._

_-Alexandra_


End file.
